Author's Notes: Someone (*cough* Zsra187 *cough*) reviewed on my "sweetest kill" that she was intrigued by the idea of a vampire story, and how she wouldn't complain if I made it a longer story. Well... here it is. Because Damnit! Inspiration happened. Or some shit like that.

If you've read Sweetest Kill, chapter 1 is an alternate ending with a different POV, and then we go from there. If you haven't read it, don't worry, it's darker and more morbid then this one, and a one shot; but you won't be missing much. This one is still dark and morbid, but not quite to the same degree.

Trigger Warnings: There will be mentions of rape and there is a rape attempt. There will be limes and lemons (not in all the chapters), there will be blood kink (again, not for all the sex scenes, there happens to be nice "making love" lemons as well). There will be thoughts of suicide. Fast forward through them as they come up, or if they are extreme "no-no's" for you, please do not read past this point.

Disclaimer: I do not own a thing of "A Song of Ice and Fire", nor of any of the other media that I borrowed inspiration from, for this chapter or any of the rest of this story.


"It's getting late!" Joffrey yelled over the loud bass thumping through their eardrums at the bar, "Do you want to go?"

Smiling at his gallantry, Sansa nodded in the affirmative. As he led her with his hand on the small of her back, she quickly thought over the evening: laughing at her daring move to sneak out of her parent's house, blushing at the attentions the older boy paid upon her, cringing at the amount of alcohol she had drunk, more then she had originally planned...

She sighs in relief as the cool night air caresses her face. While dancing and making small talk with Joffrey had been fun, it was getting late and she was tired and warm. Hot from the dancing and from the more then healthy dose of rum running through her veins.

Joffrey hung his arm around her shoulders, and Sansa leaned into him, grateful for his steadying presence. She smirked when she thought upon the next day, mere hours away, already not caring the least about the lack of sleep, for her rewards would be better, much better. She was only a freshman at King's Landing High, a transfer from a small northern town, family steeped in mystery to the southerners. She was unknown and relatively unpopular, yet she had scored the most handsome and popular jock, plus he was a senior! She couldn't wait to see the faces of her friends.

She giggled, and Joffrey squeezed her closer, laughing along though he didn't know why. He was good like that, indulging her courtesies, after school activities, and fantasies that left her spaced out more than once. It was fair turn, for she had to put up with his own sports schedules, the need for her presence at every game, and his peculiar brand of temper.

She reached over to rub his stomach, glad he had convinced her out for the night. Relieved that the fake IDs he procured from who knows where worked, and hopeful that no one in her family would ever find out, least of all her mother.

She giggled at that though. Laughter erupting soon after as Joffrey tickled her in turn. Playfully, the traded blows: him with twitchy fingers, her with half-hearted shoves. When he finally stopped, she realized that he had maneuvered her into the alleyway across from where he parked. He grinned at her, and she was captivated by his classic beauty. He leaned closer, and her heart sped up, practically breaking open her ribcage as he kissed her.

It was by no means their first, but somehow it was different than their previously innocent pecks. He was demanding, hot, and exploring her in a way he hadn't before. Her lips would be bruised the next day, and that would be a first. But she didn't care, it was delicious! Moaning, she hugged him closer, wanting to kiss a little while longer, pleased at his ardent kissing, even if he was a little sour tasting.

He squeezed a breast, and she allowed him. She may even have liked it. She drew the line at his hand fluttering beneath her halter top: she smacked his hand away, giggling to soften the blow, as if to say, "Later, you can touch that later."

They continue to kiss, and his hand rubs her side, as if to assure her his intentions were true. She moans again, arching to him as his kisses continued to thrill her. His hand caresses her thigh, and she lets him, though in the back of her mind she wishes he wouldn't ruin their good make-out session with hands far too curious in a far too open atmosphere. When his hand goes to the inside of her thigh, just below the hem of her short skirt, however, she has to break the kiss. "Wait." She whispers, "Not here. It's too in the open."

"The car?" he asks.

"Yes. Please take me home."

He laughs. "I'm hardly going to take you in the room above your parents!"

Furrowing her brow, she replies, "No. Not now, not here, and not tonight. I'm a little tipsy, and besides, I'm not ready for that!"

His face, for the first time in her memory, blazes in fury. She had seen him angry before, but never quite dangerously so. She quails, "Please, Joff, I had an enjoyable night. Please, take me home, don't scare me like that. Don't ruin what a nice night we had. Please..."

"You cock tease!" At her indignant gasp, he just laughs, "Oh, please, princess, what did you think was going to happen? That I would just be happy to have a platonic relationship forever? Or just until you graduate high school? I'll be long gone by then, in college, and this will have been a waste!" He yells in her face.

She slaps him, hard. "Take me home!" She demands.

Slowly, his face rotates back to her from her slap. When he faces her, he ignores her tears, her trembling lip, just sneers at her, then backhands her in retaliation, his varsity ring catching on her lip and cutting her. When she cries out, he shoves one hand over her mouth, and grabs a fistful of her hair with his other. "Hear me, bitch; I'll have you willing or no."

Muffled under his hands are her pleas and her begging him to stop, to take her home. He removes his hand from her mouth, quickly jerking it to slap her again. She winces and prepares for the blow, closing her eyes against the pain, when instead Joffrey is jerked away from her.

Her eyes are still closed, but she hears a raspy voice address her boyfriend, "You'll not have her at all." And then she hears Joffrey cry out in pain.

Taking a quick breath to steel her nerves, she opens her eyes, gasping in shock. Joffrey is still in front of her, looming above her, yet his eyes are glazed in fear, trying in vain to see that which holds him. Behind him stands an even taller man, for the most part hidden in shadows. One muscled arm flexes with strength around Joffrey's shoulders as he holds Joffrey to his body. The other arms tenses with the same strength, grasping Joffrey's golden locks between the dark fingers graced with even darker hair, yanking the head to the side to reveal the neck.

But even stranger than the new arrival holding Joffrey like so, was the stranger leaning over Joffrey's shoulder, biting his neck, licking his neck! Gods! He was a VAMPIRE! 'Oh Gods! Oh Gods!' It was all Sansa could think. Even as she watched the life flicker from Joffrey's eyes, watched thin lines of red form on his neck and stain the collar of his shirt, and then finally latched onto the gaze of the vampire, all she could think was: 'Oh gods!'

The stranger, the dark vampire, continued to suck and drain the life out of her boyfriend, and continued to stare at her. She was captivated by his stare: it was angry yet not at her, it was strong and old and... and... would not let her go! She stood rooted to her spot, lips quivering in abject terror; a doe caught in the headlights. Her whole body seemed to grab at the brick wall of the alley behind her, while he stood towering over her, holding her erstwhile boyfriend between them.

Joffrey slowly stopped struggling, at one point passing out; yet the staring contest continued. She wondered if the vampire was waiting for her to do something, to run so he could chase her, or attempt to beat at him, or something; but he would not release her gaze, so she stayed rooted to her spot.

The vampire licked the last bit of blood from Joffrey's neck, leering at Sansa as if he'd like to lick her too. She shudders at the image, at once fearful and yet wondering, morbidly, what it would feel like. Joffrey, now dead, is left to crumple ungracefully to the ground. Sansa quickly spared a look at the body, afraid even of the short moment to leave the vampire's eyes, then returned his gaze again, whimpering and cowering in fear that she was next.

She started to lower herself to the ground, as if to make herself into a ball, but the vampire finally moved on her, garbing her shoulders and lifting her up towards him, unbalancing her and causing her to involuntarily crash into him. He seized her with both arms, holding her close, sniffing her.

Shivering in fear, she does nothing to impede him, nothing to help herself, nothing to call for help, unbelieving that would she would be effective. She feels him against her, hard, all of him hard. Tears form in her eyes. Perhaps agreeing to Joffrey's lusts would have been better. She would have survived that, at least!

The vampire traced Sansa's auburn hair with his nose, crooked and sharp as it is, and then sniffed her neck, which did nothing to soothe her nerves. He licks her neck, causing her to whimper, and she is finally inspired to try something to prevent what was surely unstoppable: "Pl…. pl…ppp…pl…." she stutters.

She feels him looking up from where he was sniffing, looking at her as she stoutly refused to look at him anymore. Surprisingly, though, the vampire gently starts to trace her face, lingering near the bruise Joffrey gave her with his slap; it was a cold hand, but felt nice on her hot injury.

He then grabs her chin and bringing her face towards his. "You should have run." He rasps, "I would have let you go."

Gasping, she looks at him in surprise, staring into the depth of grey emotion, unable to work out just what he wants from her. "Shhh… You're all right, Little Bird." He whispers, "So tiny, fearful, fragile… so far from her nest." He caresses her arms, though his hands are far from warm or comforting, and grabs her hands in his. Her hands looks so tiny in comparison, yet he handles her delicately, gently placing her small hands upon his broad shoulders, where she feels his coldness, and realizes how stark their temperatures are.

He stares at her, and then takes a deep breath again, holding it for far longer than anyone has held his breath around Sansa, and she wonders briefly if he really needs to breathe, dead as vampires are, or if he just wants her scent. Is he attracted to her? Could he want her in that way? Or is her blood? For the first time since knowing he was a vampire, she wonders if she would survive this encounter. After all, he had just saved her from a rape. Were his intentions more honorable than originally thought? Could a vampire do good deeds?

He looks down at her lips, quivering still, yet as she takes a shaky breath, they slow as he does nothing but stare at her. He looks back at her eyes when she's calm again, and he exhales, slowly, his rank breath of copper and decay do nothing to endear him to her, yet she endures silently. He does not breathe in again, and his own body leans away from her for the first time.

"I won't hurt you." he whispers, just before he leans down and captures her lips. That his taste is different than his smell is her first thought, more like dark wine than rotting corpse. Her second thought is: 'am I really enjoying this? The man who murdered my boyfriend, whose very existence is the stuff of nightmares?' Yet as he sucks upon her bottom lip, and licks at her moistness, she puts up no fight.

And then he leans away from her again, licking at his lips a smear of blood: her blood. She brings a hand from his shoulder to her lips, fingering them, finding the blood and looking at it before returning the vampire's gaze. He smirks at her, rasping, "Delicious."

All too swiftly, fear of death again comes full force. He had just enjoyed a taste of her, he would want more: "Don't... don't do this...please, I just..."

He looks at her with anguish, and she trails off. Perhaps he truly didn't mean to drain her dry, and really only paid her a compliment. "I'm sorry." She finished, lamely.

"You'll not have to worry about me anymore, Little Bird, so stop with your chirping." He releases her, slowly, as if to not startle her. "You smell divine, Little Bird; you've no idea what you do to me." His hand holds her hand last, and he tells her, "I don't kill innocents, though; you have nothing to fear from me."

Just as he's about to let go, she squeezes top retain his attention. "Wait." She says, hardly believing her own words, yet for some reason, she would know more of her strange vampiric savior, "What is your name?"

"What is it to you? Quick now, before I lose all restraint."

Gulping, gathering her resolve, she replies, "I'd know the name of the man who saved me."

He stares at her, incredulous at her request, and she thinks he won't reply, or will have some scathing remark, but eventually, he shakes his head, replying: "Sandor."

"Sandor." Tentatively, Sansa smiles, "I'm Sansa. Sansa Stark. Thank you. For saving me from..." rape, "from him, that is."

He says nothing, only rakes his eyes over her, causing her one last shiver, before he releases her hand and turns towards the shadows of the alley, and out of her life, left intact.

For a few months at least.